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Defamation Of Character

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A man was sued by a woman for defamation of character. She charged that he had called her a pig. The man was found guilty and fined.

After the trial he asked the judge, “This means that I cannot call Mrs. Compton a pig?”

The judge said that was true.

“Does this mean I cannot call a pig Mrs. Compton?” the man asked.

The judge replied that he could indeed call a pig Mrs. Compton with no fear of legal action.

The man looked directly at Mrs. Compton and said, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Compton.”



Change and Directions

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The lawyer is standing at the gate to Heaven and St. Peter is listing his sins:

1) Defending a large corporation in a pollution suit where he knew they were guilty.

2) Defending an obviously guilty murderer because the fee was high.

3) Overcharging fees to many clients.

4) Prosecuting an innocent woman because a scapegoat was needed in a controversial case.

And the list goes on for quite awhile.

The lawyer objects and begins to argue his case. He admits all these things, but argues, “Wait, I’ve done some charity in my life also.”

St. Peter looks in his book and says,”Yes, I see. Once you gave a dime to a panhandler and once you gave an extra nickel to the shoeshine boy, correct?”

The lawyer gets a smug look on his face and replies, “Yes.”

St. Peter turns to the angel next to him and says, “Give this guy 15 cents and tell him to go to hell.”


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Everybody’s Free (To Embrace the Dark Side of the Force)

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This appeared in a local Sunday magazine recently. For those unfamiliar with the Star Wars saga, James Earl Jones was the voice of that great villain Darth Vader. But those Star Wars fans will surely appreciate this fanciful article :

Supposedly James Earl Jones is Vassar College’s Commencement speaker for this year. Oddly, this event coincides with the release of the much awaited “Phantom Menace” and the unexpected popularity of Baz Luhrmann’s “Sunscreen Song” (which, if you haven’t had your head under a rock, is a spoken graduation address set to music that is constantly playing on many radio stations). And so, I can only wonder what would Mr. Jones’ address be like?…. (had he been in character)

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Vassar College class of ‘99… embrace the Dark Side of the Force. If I could offer you only one tip for the future, the Dark Side would be it. The long-term benefits of the Dark Side have been proven by the Dark Lords of the Sith, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than m yown meandering cruelty and conquests.

I will dispense this advice now…

Enjoy the power and beauty of your planet. Oh, never mind. You will never understand the power and the beauty of your planet until after the Empre has destroyed it in a futile attempt to find the Rebel Base. But trust me, in twenty years, you will look back at photos of your home and recall, in a way you can’t grasp now, how blissfully ignorant you were, and how fabulous your planet really looked before it was a pile of burning space rubble. Your planet is not as dull as you imagine.

Don’t worry about the Rebellion–or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to make the Kessel run in a landspeeder. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your twisted mind–the kind that fire a direct hit into your reactor core at 4 PM on some idle Tuesday.

Do in a Death Star officer every day.

Scheme.

Don’t disobey the Emperor’s orders; don’t put up with people who disobey yours.

Hate.

Don’t waste your time on Stormtroopers. They can’t hit the broad side of a barn.

The battle is long and in the end, it is only with yourself. And your idiot son.

Remember the prophecies of the Emperor; ignore the whinings of your bratty upstart farmboy of a son. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old light saber, but change your costume slightly with every sequel.

Destroy.

Don’t feel guilty if you have no misgivings about joining the Dark Side. The most interesting people I know didn’t have any respect at 22 for their victim’s lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year olds I know still don’t.

Have plenty of minions.

Be kind to your right hand; you’ll miss it when it’s gone.

Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t. Maybe your son will join you, maybe he won’t. Maybe you’ll convince your daughter to become a dark Jedi and assist you in your campaign of hatred and destruction; maybe she’ll become a rebel leader and marry a scruffy-looking nerf herder.

Whatever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your destiny is half chance. So is everybody else’s.

Enjoy the Force. Exploit it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of it or what other people think of your “sorcerer’s ways.” The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to its power.

Kill. Even if you have no one to kill but a meaningless extra.

Listen to what the Emperor has foreseen, even if you don’t follow his prophecies.

Do not take your mask off, it will only make you feel ugly. And vulnerable.

Get to know your parents. You’ll never know when they’ll turn out to be your arch enemies.

Be nice to your siblings. They are your best link to your Jedi lineage and the ones most likely to become Jedi in the future.

Understand that lackeys come and go. But with a precious few, you should keep from crushing their tracheas.

Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, for as the more desperate you become, the more you will need to send bounty hunters to do your dirty work for you.

Live on Dagobah once, but leave before you get foot rot.

Live on Tattooine once, but leave before you get heat stroke.

Travel. Preferably in your own custom TIE Fighter.

Accept certain inalienable truths: rebellions will rise, the Imperial Senate will have to be disbanded. You too will get old. And when you do, you’ll fantasize that when you were young, rebels were easily crushed, the Imperial Senate was subservient, and citizens respected their Emperor.

Respect your Emperor.

Don’t expect your son to rule the galaxy with you. Maybe he’ll give in to his anger. Maybe he’ll strike you down. But you’ll never know when he’ll whine pleadingly, and you’ll find yourself turning to the Light Side and saving his sorry butt.

Don’t strike down your old Jedi Master, or he will become more powerful than you could possibly imagine.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it, or I’ll crush your throat. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing your humanity from the depths of sin, wiping it off, putting black body armor over the ugly parts and redeeming it for more than it is worth.

But trust me on the Dark Side.


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Entirely Guilty

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Frederick II, the 18th century king of Prussia, fancied himself an enlightened monarch, and in some respects he was. On one occasion he is supposed to have interested himself in conditions in the Berlin prison and was escorted through it so that he might speak to the prisoners. One after another, the prisoners fell to their knees before him, bewailing their lot and, predictably, protesting their total innocence of all charges that had been brought against them.

Only one prisoner remained silent, and finally Frederick’s curiosity was aroused.

“You,” he called. “You there.”

The prisoner looked up. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Why are you here?”

“Armed robbery, Your Majesty.”

“And are you guilty?”

“Entirely guilty, Your Majesty. I richly deserve my punishment.”

At this Frederick rapped his cane sharply on the ground and said, “Warden, release this guilty wretch at once. I will not have him here in jail where by example he will corrupt all the splendid innocent people who occupy it.”


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Santa Claus is a WOMAN!

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I think Santa Claus is a woman….

I hate to be the one to defy sacred myth, but I believe he’s a she. Think about it. Christmas is a big, organized, warm, fuzzy, nurturing social deal, and I have a tough time believing a guy could possibly pull it all off!

For starters, the vast majority of men don’t even think about selecting gifts until Christmas Eve. It’s as if they are all frozen in some kind of ebenezerian Time Warp until 3 p.m. on Dec. 24th, when they - with amazing calm - call other errant men and plan for a last-minute shopping spree. Once at the mall, they always seem surprised to find only Ronco products, socket wrench sets, and mood rings left on the shelves. You might think this would send them into a fit of panic and guilt, but my husband tells me it’s an enormous relief because it lessens the 11th hour decision-making burden. On this count alone, I’m convinced Santa is a woman. Surely, if he were a man, everyone in the universe would wake up Christmas morning to find a rotating, musical Chia Pet under the tree, still in the bag.

Another problem for a he-Santa would be getting there. First of all, there would be no reindeer because they would all be dead, gutted and strapped on to the rear bumper of the sleigh amid wide-eyed, desperate claims that buck season had been extended. Blitzen’s rack would already be on the way to the taxidermist.

Even if the male Santa DID have reindeer, he’d still have transportation problems because he would inevitably get lost up there in the snow and clouds and then refuse to stop and ask for directions. Add to this the fact that there would be unavoidable delays in the chimney, where the Bob Vila-like Santa would stop to inspect and repoint bricks in the flue. He would also need to check for carbon monoxide fumes in every gas fireplace, and get under every Christmas tree that is crooked to straighten it to a perfectly upright 90-degree angle.

Other reasons why Santa can’t possibly be a man:

* Men can’t pack a bag.
* Men would rather be dead than caught wearing red velvet.
* Men would feel their masculinity is threatened… having to be seen with all those elves.
* Men don’t answer their mail.
* Men would refuse to allow their physique to be described even in jest as anything remotely resembling a “bowlful of jelly.”
* Men aren’t interested in stockings unless somebody’s wearing them.
* Having to do the Ho Ho Ho thing would seriously inhibit their ability to pick up women.
* Finally, being responsible for Christmas would require a commitment.

I can buy the fact that other mythical characters are men….
Father Time shows up once a year unshaven and looking ominous. Definite guy. Cupid flies around carrying weapons. Uncle Sam is a politician who likes to point fingers. Any one of these individuals could pass the testosterone screening test. But not St. Nick. Not a chance. However, as long as we have each other, good will, peace on earth, faith and Nat King Cole’s version of “The Christmas Song”, it probably makes little difference what gender Santa is.


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